Adulation
by RachelisGiraffe
Summary: The following is a compilation of letters, notes, journal entries, and eyewitness accounts of the tale of Harry Potter’s fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and his secret acquaintanceship with Cedric Diggory. CD/HP. Slash.
1. An Explanation and a Letter

_**Author's Note:** I've decided to completely redo the story because I found it rather bland and unoriginal. This is also a writing challenge for myself. Please give me your feedback._

The following is a compilation of letters, notes, journal entries, and eyewitness accounts of the tale of Mr. Harry Potter's fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and his secret acquaintanceship with Mr. Cedric Diggory.

* * *

_A letter found in a box in the Weasleys' attic, addressed to a Mr. Arthur Weasley from a Mr. Amos Diggory._

Dear Arthur,

It was good to hear from you, old friend, I'm pleased to hear that Molly and the children are well. Things are busy here. I've had Cedric on a rather exhausting training program. The poor boy just doesn't want to stop! Speaking of Quidditch, I trust that you've gotten your tickets and reserved a tent space for the World Cup? The Portkey is set to leave at 6:30. Possibly 7:00 or 7:30. I can't quite remember. It'll be on top of the hill, or somewhere near it. Ced and I will meet your lot on the way. I've got loads to tell you regarding the Ministry. Things are changing, my friend, and I don't like the way they're heading. Keep your eyes and ears open.

Sincerely,  
Amos.

P.S. Is it true that a Mr. Harry Potter will be joining us? I'm quite excited to finally meet the boy, and I'm sure Ced's looking forward to better making his acquaintance. See you soon.

* * *


	2. A Letter and a Journal Entry

_This letter was kindly turned in by Ms. Cho Chang and is addressed to a Miss Cho Chang from a Mr. Cedric Diggory._

Dear Cho,

Sorry I haven't written in a while. I've been extremely busy with Quidditch training. Dad has me out every morning and every afternoon with barely a ten minute break for lunch. By the end of the day, I can barely drag myself up to bed, much less manage a letter. The only reason I'm even able to write one now is because Dad and I are going to the Quidditch World Cup tomorrow and have cancelled practice for the day. We have to get up very early to catch the Portkey. I really wish you could come along. I miss you.

Love,  
Cedric.

* * *

_This journal entry was found in a Mr. Cedric Diggory's journal along with his other notebooks._

It's nearly midnight. Though I should be asleep, I'll probably be up all night, as usual. I feel somewhat guilty about not writing Cho more often, and even more so about lying as to the reason. Obviously, tiredness and aching muscles aren't keeping me from writing, considering I've done a journal entry at least every day this summer. I do miss her, but I'm getting a bit bored with writing her. Hopefully, things will spark back up when school begins.

The moon is nearly full tonight. I love sitting by the window and watching the sky. It's so vast and beautiful. It seems the longer I stare, the more it changes, right before my eyes. It's beautiful. If anyone were to know about that, especially my father... I'd rather not consider.

Leaving for the World Cup in the morning. Better get some rest.

Signed: Cedric.


	3. In the Perspective of a Portkey

_The following is the testimony of a Portkey._

From atop the hill, I can see along the forest, the fir trees and looming elms clustered together in a sea of green. The landscape dips down into a valley, where a light haze has settled for the night, yet to be awoken and chased away by the slowly rising sun. The dawn sky is gray and blue and, towards the far horizon, showing the beginning hints of pink and orange. All is still and serene. I listen to the early birds fluttering around and singing their morning songs. I feel the soft grass beneath me.

I absorb all of this as much as I can, for it is the first and last time I shall see, hear, and feel. Someone has awoken me from my death, enchanting my worn leather and frayed stitching to create a device for transporting someone to somewhere. I don't know of the time I shall depart, nor of the people who will come to use me, but I do know that once it ends, I will return to being a useless old boot yet again.

The tranquility of the woods is shattered by the sound of approaching voices. In a moment, a group of people appear at the bottom of the hill and make their way up. The majority have orange hair and freckles. The eldest redhead, plausibly the father of them, is speaking with a man without the fiery hair. Beside him is a handsome young man. A girl with a mess of brown hair walks alongside a redhead boy, and they're joined by a black-haired boy with circular glasses.

I realize with some sadness that it's almost time for my new life to end. I wish the trees farewell before turning my attention back to the people. They gather in a circle around me, watching, waiting. They murmur to each other. I watch their faces, their expressions. There are two twin boys who are whispering back and forth and grinning in mischief. The father of the redheads is explaining something to the bushy-haired girl and her bespectackled companion using silly hand gestures. The remaining redheaded boy and girl stare at me with uneasy frowns, while the handsome boy and his father stand confidentally nearby. The handsome one, it seems, has his eyes locked on something, with a glazed-over shine that gives him a dreamy gaze, adding to his attractive exterior. I trace his gaze across the air and find that he's watching the black-haired boy. My new mind is full of knowledge I would have never dreamt, and I register that the handsome boy must find something interesting in the other to stare at.

Before I can ponder the strange relations of human nature any further, the father of the orange-haired ones makes an excited noise and grabs hold of me. I feel the touch of everyone's cold hands as they stare expectantly and excitedly down at me. I look back at them as we're all lifted and spun around, completely out of my control. In a few moments, they release me, and I fall onto the grass with a sharp thump. Around me, people collapse onto the ground with grunts and moans, a few looking slightly ill. I can feel my life flickering away, but I try to grasp onto the feeble thread for as long as possible.

My vision is fading, but I can see that three of them managed to land on their feet: the father of the redheads, the handsome boy's father, and the handsome boy. The latter turns around and throws out a hand to assist the nearest fallen person, who ends up being the black-haired boy. They grasp hands, and the handsome boy pulls him up off the ground. For a moment, a very brief and almost unnoticeable moment, they pause and stare at each other, hands still together. There's a strange, fleeting emotion that bubbles into the eyes of the handsome one, a longing perhaps, but the other boy's cheeks flush and he quickly yanks his hand away, murmurs what is probably a thank you, and hurries off to stand with his friends.

The last few seconds of memory I have is of the handsome boy, staring down at his hand with an expression I can't seem to read.


	4. Two Journal Entries

_Journal Entry:_

We've arrived at the campsite for the World Cup. Dad and I met the Weasleys (and guests) at the base of the hill on which the Portkey sat. The Weasleys are as always: freckle-faced, red-headed, and plentiful. Fred and George's glares betrayed their obvious grudge over me after the last Quidditch match, which is a shame. Hermione Granger was there with Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. I only know the former two by name because of their friendship with the famous Harry Potter. I've never actually met Harry outside the Quidditch pitch, and I've never stopped to get a good look at him. He's gotten quite... old. I mean, he's grown up. He's not the scrawny little kid I used to see him as. He's a fourth year, I believe, and already I can tell he's going to be handsome.

I shouldn't think about this stuff, I know. I try not to. But sometimes, I can't help it. I feel no guilt or disgust, though I'm sure that others would, so I keep my dangerous thoughts safely in my mind and in my journal.

Leaving for the game soon. Go Ireland!

Signed: Cedric.

* * *

_Journal Entry:_

Couldn't even concentrate on the game. Something's bothering me, but I can't determine what it is. Dad asked if everything's alright, and I said yes. Of course everything's alright. Everything's always alright. How could anything not be alright with his perfect little Quidditch star?

I don't feel like celebrating with everyone else. I'm going to lie down.

When I close my eyes, I see a face. A beautiful face. I don't know whose it is, but I love it.

Sweet dreams.

Signed: Cedric.


	5. A Letter and a Response

_This letter was graciously turned in by a Ms. Cho Chang and is addressed to a Miss Cho Chang from a Mr. Cedric Diggory._

Dear Cho,

I'm happy to hear that you are fond of your new skirt. I'm sure it looks very nice on you.

You may have already heard of the incident at the Cup. It was terrifying. Fire everywhere, screaming, chaos. My dad managed to Apparate us both home and then return to the scene. He later told me that they had found Harry Potter in the area from which the Dark Mark had been cast into the sky. They thought he'd done it, but it turned out to be a house elf. I wouldn't have believed Harry would have done it, anyway.

School will be starting soon. I can't wait to see you again.

Love,  
Cedric.

* * *

_This letter was turned in by a Ms. Cho Chang after finding it in a box of letters under Mr. Cedric Diggory's bed. It is addressed to a Mr. Cedric Diggory from a Miss Cho Chang._

Dear Cedric,

I can't believe it! It must've been awfully frightful. I'm so, so happy that you're alright. I was worried you might've gotten hurt. No, I don't think Harry would do such a thing, either. Only Dark wizards do that, and I don't think Harry's a Dark wizard.

_(A lengthy paragraph has been covered by black ink. Ms. Cho Chang says that this information is in complete disregard to the investigation.)_

I'm very excited for school, as well. I miss you very, very much. See you on the train!

Love,  
Cho.


	6. In the Perspective of a Train

_The following is the testimony of the Hogwarts Express steam engine._

Thick, swirling steam erupts in coughs from the stack, filling the top of the arched platform with a white fog. All around me, children run around, pushing carts and dragging trunks and holding onto their parents' hands. I dislike the children. They litter my fine carpeting with the wrappers of their sweets. They abuse my interior with their rough-housing. They throw their luggage up above their seats without a care as to how it collides with the walls, scuffing them and bruising the pretty wallpaper. They don't even care. I stand proud, though, as the filthy creatures wriggle around me. I can feel some of them already inside me, laughing and running up and down the corridors in search of a cabin.

I watch them in distaste. Three or four boys are gathered on the platform, surrounding a large furry beast of some sort, though a parent seems to be making their way toward them with the intention of breaking them up and sending them on their way. Further down, several girls squeal and embrace each other, their lips moving dizzily fast. There are many boys and girls greeting one another with enthusiastic, inexperienced kisses. Nearby, a girl with Asian eyes and long, shining black hair leaps into the arms of her handsome boyfriend, skipping the "hello" and diving right into a long, wet kiss. _Disgusting creatures._

Three children stand together, and I recognize one of them as the famous Harry Potter. I've heard much talk within my halls and around my platforms over the past fourteen years about this boy, and I know him to be of much importance, though not to a train. Trains don't bother idolizing figures for their deeds; we are more of the "thank you" and move on types.

Harry Potter converses with his friends, a redheaded boy and bushy-haired girl, but his green eyes seem to wander. I see that he's watching the oriental girl as she (still) passionately kisses her boyfriend. No, I notice that his eyes are gliding past her and lingering on the one she embraces. The handsome boy finally removes the girl from his lips, laughing, and happens to look up over her shoulder. His eyes meet those of Harry Potter, and for a few moments, they remain there. Then Harry Potter's friends grab him by the arm and drag him inside, and the oriental girl does the same with her boyfriend. The platform becomes vacant of children and only holds occupancy to waving parents. My whistle sounds, smothering their shouts and final goodbyes, and as I begin to roll out of the station, I briefly consider the scene I just bore witness to.

Love is something we trains have never been able to understand.


	7. A Feast and a Journal Entry

_This journal entry was found in a Mr. Cedric Diggory's private journal._

It feels amazing to be back at school. I spent the train ride to Hogwarts in the Prefects cabin, catching up with old friends. I honestly don't remember a single event they told me about. I just kept saying that I'd spent the entire summer practicing Quidditch. When asked about the World Cup, I gave them a brief elaboration as to how I escaped. I don't particularly wish to discuss that night. The chaos and screaming is, well, a bit too much for my taste.

When we arrived at Hogwarts, I was immediately filled with a warm sense of familiarity. I absolutely love this school. Everything about it is beautiful and grand. The ancient rugs and tapestries, the extravagent paintings. Even the vases and tables and books are full of unexplained magic. There's so much history overflowing from the stone walls. I've grown up in a world full of strange magic, yet some things never cease to amaze me, nor, I suspect, will they ever.

After the delicious feast, Professor Dumbledore spoke to us. He first listed the usual rules and regulations, and I tuned this portion of the speech out, for I've heard it enough to recite it by heart. What caught my attention was the mention of a special event that is apparently being held this year. Hogwarts is hosting the Triwizard Tournament. I've read about it, and from what I gather, it should make this year even more interesting. We'll be joined by two other schools, one of which I know to be the school of Viktor Crum. I'd very much like to meet him.

Entering hadn't even crossed my mind, to be truthful, but as we left he Great Hall, I was immediately attacked and badgered by my friends, who insisted I enter. I finally had to agree in order to shake them off my shoulders, but I'm still hesitant. I mean, five thousand galleons is a decent prize, but facing perilous tasks in which I could possibly die just for money and glory doesn't appeal to me. I'd rather be alive and remembered by my friends than dead and remembered by people who have never met me. Perhaps I can just pretend to put my name in the goblet.

Speaking of my oh-so thoughtful friends, I can hear them calling my name from the common room, where everyone else is gathered and having a small back-to-school party. I managed to escape to my room to write, but now it seems I'm wanted and must return.

One final note I feel the need to put down, however, before the thought grows stale and fade from my mind: green eyes. I keep seeing his beautiful green eyes everywhere. I can picture every detail, every small contour, of his face so clearly in my mind. When I see him, I can't help but stare until I'm shaken into reality by my friends. Sometimes, he catches me staring, and before I can snap my gaze away in embarrassment, he looks at me. I don't understand the look, but the connection we create feels… indescribable.

What's come over me?

Signed: Cedric.


End file.
